White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded all with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go

With true-love showers.

AND WILL HE NOT COME AGAIN?

AND will he not come again?

And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead :

Go to thy death-bed :

He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow,

All flaxen was his poll:

He is gone, he is gone,

And we cast away moan;

God ha' mercy on his soul!

E

I Witch. 2 Witch.

From Macbeth.

THE WITCHES' CAULDRON.

HRICE the brinded cat hath mewed.

THRICE

Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. 3 Witch. Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. I Witch. Round about the cauldron go: In the poisoned entrails throw.

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights has thirty-one,
Sweltered venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot!
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble;
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches' mummy, maw, and gulf
Of the ravined salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digged i' the dark,

Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew,
Slivered in the moon's eclipse,
Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-delivered by a drab,

Make the gruel thick and slab;
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.

From Cymbeline.

HARK! HARK! THE LARK AT HEAVEN'S GATE SINGS.

HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin

FEAR NO MORE THE HEAT OF THE SUN.

EAR no more the heat o' the sun

FEAR

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

From Antony and Cleopatra.

COME, THOU MONARCH OF THE VINE.

COME, thou monarch of the vine,

Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!
In thy fats our cares be drowned,
With thy grapes our hairs be crowned:
Cup us till the world go round,
Cup us till the world go round!

From A Winter's Tale.

WHEN DAFFODILS BEGIN TO PEER.

WHEN daffodils begin to peer,

WHE

With heigh! the doxy over the dale,

Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;

For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,

With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing !

1

Doth set my pugging 1 tooth on edge;

For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,

With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay: Are summer songs for me and my aunts,

While we lie tumbling in the hay.

1 Thievish.